


two hauses make a home

by pugglemuggle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Adulthood, Cooking, Domesticity, Gen, IKEA Furniture, Moving In Together, Navigating adult life while kinda missing being roommates with your best bro, Queerplatonic Relationships, Roommates, swawesome santa exchange 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 02:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17255693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pugglemuggle/pseuds/pugglemuggle
Summary: “I was thinking Shitty and I would have the shared room.”Oh. Ransom glances at Holster, who meets his eye for a lightning-quick exchange of thoughts before they both turn back to Lardo.It's a good plan. It makes sense. And yet, the possibility that he and Holster wouldn’t be in the shared room had never crossed Ransom’s mind.(Or: Ransom and Holster move into Haus 2.0, learn to cook, and navigate their mixed feelings about living in separate rooms.)





	two hauses make a home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lardosundercut (staccato_ramble)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/staccato_ramble/gifts).



> i'm so sorry your gift is late! i hope you like it. :) 
> 
> i honestly meant to write them more romantically, but somehow it turned out like this instead. i hope you don't mind! it definitely can be read as romantic too, if you prefer.
> 
> (re: the title—I know that hauses isn't the correct plural of haus, but i didn't think many people would know what Häuser meant ;;;; sorry to any german speakers!!)

“I was thinking Shitty and I would have the shared room.”

Oh. Ransom glances at Holster, who meets his eye for a lightning-quick exchange of thoughts before they both turn back to Lardo.

“Sure, cool. That makes sense,” Holster says. 

“Yeah,” Ransom agrees. “Good plan.”

It is a good plan. It does make sense. And yet, the possibility that he and Holster  _ wouldn’t  _ be in the shared room had never crossed Ransom’s mind. They’d been roommates for three years. When they first got the lease for this new house with Shitty and Lardo, they knew they were going to have to have at least one shared room to make the rent work. Ransom just assumed it would be him and Holster.

He’s not— _ upset _ . He knew they wouldn’t be roommates forever, and it’s not like they won’t still be housemates. Plus, there are plenty of perks to having his own room. He doesn’t have to worry about having too many Alexei Mashkov posters, for one. He can also have a queen-sized bed, and go to sleep whenever he wants, and have “guests” whenever he wants. Small luxuries.

He just didn’t think he’d have to adjust to this  _ now. _

When he follows Holster up to the attic later that night, he feels dragged down by the knowledge that their time left here is limited. It’s been hitting him a lot in his senior year—the dull, creeping feeling of missing something before it’s gone. 

But Holster won’t be gone. They’ll be living together, working together, hanging out like they always do. 

_ But it won’t be the same _ , a voice in his head reminds him. As he settles down to sleep that night, tossing and turning in the top bunk, he knows that voice is right.

—

Once the last box is inside, Ransom begins setting up his room in Haus 2.0. Up goes the Canadian flag, the Toronto Maple Leafs pennant, the Samwell banner, the Mashkov posters. It takes most of the afternoon, but when he's done…fuck, he  _ loves  _ it. It's nice to have his own room to decorate, his own space.

“Knock knock?” Holster's voice comes through the crack in the door. His head appears a moment later, and he scans the room with a suitably impressed expression. “Damn. This looks great, dude.”

“Thanks bro,” Ransom grins back. 

Holster gives a quick, awkward thumbs up, then disappears from the door. Ransom frowns. Holster didn't step inside. That was weird, right? Or is he just overthinking it? 

Either way, it feels odd. Sure, it’s Ransom’s room, but there’s a reason he bought two chairs and not one. He wants Holster to hang out here, too.

—

“We should get a TV stand,” Holster says. They moved into Haus 2.0 last week, and now they're staring at remains of the squished cardboard box that, up until a few hours ago, had been holding up the TV and PS4. Sometime during the day while they were gone at work, it must have collapsed.

“We could go right now,” Ransom says. “We have the truck. Let's hit up IKEA.”

Holster grins. “I like the way you think.”

A year ago, they would have searched the Haus for a new cardboard box. Today they're going on an impromptu IKEA trip. Maybe this is what it means to grow up.

Ransom doesn't think he minds, if Holster is here too. Adulthood scares him, but it's not so bad when there's someone at his side.

—

“I know we have like, a steady income and stuff now,” Holster says, reaching his hand into the paper bag to grab another handful of fries, “but Uber Eats and Postmates every night for dinner is probably...not a good habit.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right,” Ransom agrees. He snipes another zombie with some artful controller magic and then holds out his hand for the fry bag without looking away from the screen. Holster passes it over to him dutifully. He takes a couple fries and hands the bag back.

“We should probably learn to cook,” Holster continues. “More than just pasta and steak.”

“How?”

“I dunno. The internet?”

It’s a fair option. Ransom shoots a few more zombies and then pauses the game. This conversation is going to need his full attention. “When should we start?”

“Uh. I dunno.” Holster rubs the back of his neck. “Why not tomorrow?”

Ransom considers that, then shrugs. No reason not to. “Sure, I’m in. We could start with something easy? Bolognese and...I don’t know. We should probably have a vegetable or something.”

“Probably.” Holster grins, his teeth on full display. “You know, Italian food calls for getting wine-drunk.”

Ransom chuckles. “Okay, sure. But it’s a workday, so we can’t go too crazy.”

“Look at us, being adults. Not getting wasted on workdays.”

“ _ Real  _ adults.”

“We’re definitely going to ace this adulthood thing if we can nail the Bolognese tomorrow.”

“Hell yeah.” Ransom reaches out for a fist-bump just as Holster extends his arm to do the same. They’re in-sync, even now.

Ransom plays video games for another hour or so while Holster watches intermittently, alternating between cheering Ransom’s sharpshooting and scrolling through Twitter on his phone. It feels like they’re back at the house. He half expects Chowder, or Bitty, or even Jack to walk in through the door with a backpack and a midterm to study for. Instead it’s Shitty and Lardo, sneaking in after their date. They head to their bedroom pretty quickly, to no one’s surprise.

“I think I’m going to start getting ready for bed, too,” Holster says, getting to his feet with a grunt. “Responsible adult, work tomorrow, et cetera.”

_ I’ll be in there in a second _ , Ransom almost says. He catches himself just in time. They’re not roommates anymore. Old habits die hard.

Instead, he tells Holster, “Goodnight, dude. See you in the morning.”

Holster gives him a mock-salute and lopes off to the basement. Ransom’s heart twists a little as his head disappears down the stairs. 

He’ll get used to it eventually. At least, he hopes he will.

—

The Bolognese is a success; it’s easy enough to boost their confidence and delicious enough to motivate them to try more things. They start cooking real food at least three times a week. Their repertoire of recipes grows and grows until they have their own mini menu, written out on a page from a yellow legal pad and stuck with a Bruins magnet to the side of the fridge. It’s a great way to keep track of their options.

“Bro, looks like green beans are on sale. You wanna add some to our stir fry tonight?”

Ransom looks at the produce bin Holster is pointing at and frowns. "I dunno, dude. They look kind of nasty. Probably why they're on sale."

Holster leans in a little to get a closer look and sighs. "Yeah, you're right. Back to snap peas." He tears a green produce bag from the dispenser and starts trying to open it. "You know, we should hit up the farmer's market sometime. The veggies there are probably like, way better than here."

"I bet you're right," Ransom says, tying up his bag of mushrooms. "We could go this weekend?"

"Hell yeah. We could do some sort of veggie casserole or something. Make enough for Shits and Lards too." He finishes filling his own bag with snap peas and sets it in Ransom's grocery basket.

They amble through the rest of the aisles, adding spices and pantry food and breakfast cereal to the basket as they go. This isn't something they did in college—aside from the occasional baking ingredients run with Bitty—but it's  _ nice _ , Ransom thinks. Domestic. The Haus was a chaotic mess of group living; they lived off of pie and food smuggled out of the dining hall, and everything inside was held together by duct tape. But here, in Boston, it's different. 

It's a lot more like playing house.

The feeling shatters a little when they reach the liquor section. Holster rushes towards the far end and snags a bottle of white rum from the shelf. “My liquor locker is running low,” Holster explains. “I've been really into mojitos after work.”

They used to have a joint liquor locker at the Haus—a place to store all their nice booze that they didn't want Shitty pouring into tub juice. Now, Holster has his own. It makes Ransom's heart sink a little, and he's not quite sure why. It's a booze stash. It's not a big deal. Getting disappointed over something like this is pretty dumb.

But knowing that doesn't change the way he feels.

—

“Pass the peanut oil?” 

“On it. The veggies are cut, bee-tee-dubs.”

“Sweet. Slide 'em in.”

Holster dumps the carrots, peas, and broccoli into the frying pan. They're making fried rice tonight, and it already smells delicious.

“How's the rice looking?” Holster asks as he goes to rinse off the cutting board. Ransom glances at the rice cooker.

“It's almost done, I think? It should be ready to go once the veggies are cooked a bit more.

“Sweet. I'll start working on the eggs.”

They're a great team in the kitchen. They're a great team on the ice too, and making food together now, twirling around each other in their tiny kitchen—it feels a little bit like they're back in the rink, somehow. Something about the effortless communication, or how they're always in sync. It’s bone-achingly familiar, even though they've only been cooking together for a couple months.

When the fried rice is done, they load up a couple bowls and sit side by side on the couch. Holster puts on an episode of one of those sitcoms he likes and they enjoy their food in companionable silence. Ransom takes their bowls to the sink when they finish. He knows Holster won't want to miss too much of the show.

After a few more episodes, Ransom starts to nod off. His eyelids are so goddamn heavy… He'll just close his eyes—he can still listen to the sitcom and figure out what's going on. Except, that’s a giant lie. The next thing he knows, he’s being gently shaken awake by a warm hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, bro. Probably shouldn’t spend the night like this. Your neck will get fucked up.”

Ransom opens his eyes reluctantly. He’s leaning on Holster’s shoulder; his neck is at a weird angle, true, but it’s also  _ comfortable.  _ Ugh.

He sits up gradually and stares at the rolling credits on the TV screen. Then he thinks about getting ready for bed, and him and Holster going to separate rooms. Why can’t they just sleep on the couch?

“Dude,” Holster says, quiet. “You okay?”

Ransom sighs. He feels a wave of reckless honesty coming on, and he’s just sleepy enough to let himself ride it. “It’s just…” He pauses. Holster waits. “I miss sharing a room, bro.”

“Me too,” Holster says.

Ransom exhales. Holy fuck. That’s a relief.

“I’m like, so glad I’m not the only one,” Holster says. “I sorta thought it was just me.”

“Nah dude. It’s been on my mind a lot.”

“It’s nice to have my own space and stuff, but—”

“No, yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Man,” Holster sighs. “Maybe we could do, like, sleepovers every now and then. Or something like that.”

“Yeah?” 

“I'm up for it if you are.”

“Then I'm up for it.”

“‘Swawesome.” Holster holds out his fist, and Ransom bumps his knuckles against Holster's. “How does tonight sound? My bed's plenty big enough.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, why not? We've shared before on Roadies,” Holster says. “Plus, there were those times when you had to share with me because you were afraid of ghosts—”

“They were _ real.” _

“Sure,” he chuckles. Then he stands, stretches, and holds out his hand for to help Ransom up. “C'mon. I'm beat, so let's hit the hay.”

Ransom takes his hand and gets to his feet, feeling lighter than he's felt since the move. 

Adulthood is hard. Moving is hard. Starting a career is hard. But it all seems so much easier when he has someone to do it all with—someone he's committed to. Someone he trusts. A best friend. A companion, soulmate, whatever the word might be.

Following Holster to his room feels right. It's familiar, but not the same as it had been a year ago. Old and new—just like Haus 2.0. A new chapter from the same book.

The future has good things in store.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, and happy new year! :)


End file.
